Chest Hair
by DarkShine07
Summary: Does the title really not say enough all ready? Varric's chest hair isn't just for show. Oneshot


"Varric, I have one final question."

Varric looked up from the seat he'd been politely placed in and peered through the darkness. Cassandra Pentaghast was standing some distance off, partly covered by the dramatic shadowing of the room they were in. Varric wasn't sure how long they'd been in here, but he'd had more than his fill of it. Catering to her left and right with answers, intricate or otherwise, had been entertaining at most in the beginning, simply because he loved to know everyone's business; but this was ridiculous. He'd spilled his bleating heart out to this sodding Chantry woman who demanded to know every single detail. Of course, he understood why and all, but seriously, is this what people thought when he asked them drilling questions? No wonder half the time his sarcasm wasn't met with the friendliest responses.

"I've told you all I know. If I knew where she was, I wouldn't tell you. So, there you have it." Varric replied, not afraid to show how genuinely tired of this routine he was.

"I believe that. And I also believe you don't know where she is, though that surprises me." Cassandra replied, her accent tingeing her words so that they seemed foreign and strange.

"Surprises you? Do tell me why."

"You just seemed like rather good friends."

"Oh, really?" Varric was definitely annoyed. That was an obvious statement. He'd been around the Champion for thereabout seven years; it kind of made sense that they'd become friends after all that happened in that amount of time.

"Well, yes. The Deep Roads Expedition, the Arishok, Sister Patrice, The Fade, and eventually the Mage versus Templar skirmish itself all speak wonders for the levels of trust you all must have shared. I understand from your story thus far that she also helped you with your personal problems?" Cassandra eyed him from across the room.

"Hawke had a habit of helping everyone with their personal problems. Like I said, she helped Anders, Fenris, Aveline, Daisy, Isabela, and every other poor sod who crossed her path as well." Varric replied, not seeing how this was relevant in the slightest.

"Helpful as she may seem, you never got the impression she did all this out of more than just a charitable heart?" Cassandra casually glanced down.

"What…are you getting at?" Varric narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

"Seven years is a long time, Varric. Do you really expect me to believe that, how did you call her, the beautiful Hawke with blazing eyes and a fierce will to succeed never attracted anyone?"

"Sure she did. But nothing serious ever happened." Varric responded, guarding his reply.

"Not with Fenris…or Anders…or…"

"No."

"Not even with you? Who claims to know so much about her? Who believes he can tell her story so wonderfully without any error?" Cassandra titled her head and analyzed him carefully.

Varric had to mentally figure out how to respond to that. The answer was…complicated. And it wasn't very believable either. He thought back to years ago and let his mind refresh itself with just what had happened.

**/-/-/-/-/**

Oh, Maker, was she drunk. Hawke blinked but despite her effort, her field of vision did not clear in the slightest. What had happened? Someone needed to remind her. All she remembered was heading into the Hanged Man to relax after getting absolutely fed up about…about…what had she been so angry about, anyhow? Blighter, who cared. All that mattered was that she was absolutely sullied at the moment. She blinked again, but couldn't make sense of what she saw.

"Hey. Hey, Hawke? Are you all right?" Came a voice.

She glanced up groggily. A guy was leaning over a counter, peering at her. Her depth perception must have been off because he seemed to be miles away from her. "Why are you standing way over there?" She gurgled.

"What do you mean? I'm close enough to touch you." To prove the point she felt him lay a hand on her arm.

"Hey – don't try anything funny." She hiccupped. "I'm Hawke. I kill people who try funny business."

The man held his arms up in surrender and shook his head. "No offense intended, Hawke, but I think you might have had one too many for the night."

"One too many of what?" Why couldn't people be more specific? Vagueness never got anyone anywhere. Or did it? Maker.

"Drinks, what else? Drinks!"

Drinks? Oh right, drinking tended to make you drunk. She peered at her hand and saw that she was gripping a pint, or what had been a pint until she'd downed it.

"Oh…I suppose I have."

"Yeah, so, you should probably get going." The annoying man continued.

"Get going _where_?" Hawke asked, exasperated beyond capacity.

"Home!"

Screw this place, Hawke thought. Trying to get rid of her just because she knew how to loosen up? She'd leave then. Find a place that knew what was what. Wait, what direction was home in? She twirled around in her seat and looked about the Hanged Man. It seemed familiar. For some reason, she got the idea that she knew somebody who hung out here rather often. She stumbled down off the barstool and headed across the wooden floor.

Men leered at her, she punched a couple of them, but mostly she ignored them the best she could, which wasn't too difficult with her swarming thoughts buzzing in and out of focus. The stairs were a bit of a problem, but somehow she managed to crawl up them – or maybe she just fell up them. She couldn't really tell. But eventually, she was at the top of the stairs and she knew the room she was looking for was just a turn away. The door was locked. How late was it if even Varric thought it was time to lock the door?

"Varrrrrrric…" She called, obnoxiously holding the 'air' sound of his name.

"Go away, woman!" Came his reply. Hawke didn't think he recognized her voice.

"But you always have time for me." She insisted.

"Not tonight I don't, I've got – wait."

She heard a ruffling and scuffling as the dwarf no doubt made his way across the room and unlocked the door.

"Andraste, I thought that sounded like you…" Varric muttered.

"Expecting somebody else?" Hawke grinned dumbly and waltzed in past him.

Varric stood there holding the door open a second and then sighed before closing it and turning after her.

"Hawke, as much as I love a good late night chat, don't you think this is a bit extreme? It's the maker-awful hour of three in the morning." Varric didn't sound like his chipper self.

"Good morning!" Hawke replied, all but collapsing into one of the chairs in the room.

Varric titled his head. "Hawke?"

"Tis the one and only I!"

"Well, I'll be." Varric grinned now, crossing his arms like he was impressed.

Hawke looked around the room. It was homey, or at least she thought it looked homey. She could have just been seeing things. Seeing things with her eyes…wasn't that something special? What if…

"You're drunk, Hawke. I never thought I'd see the day."

"The day is only a few hours away, trust me, you'll see it when it gets here." Hawke replied, feeling rather clever.

"Indeed. Tell me, dear Hawke, when exactly did you have your first drink?" Varric moved over to her and took the chair beside hers, more than willing to be disturbed now that he knew it was worth losing time over.

"Oh, I was probably only twelve or so when Carver decided to take me out to-"

"No, Hawke. Tonight."

"Maker if I know, Varric." Hawke was annoyed. How was she supposed to remember? All that mattered was that she'd had the drink. Not when.

"Right. Any idea just how many you had then?"

"Four hundred and you've got a deal."

Varric raised his eyebrow, than sighed. She was way further gone than he realized.

"Hey, Varric. You should try some of what I had." Hawke suddenly suggested.

"Oh, I kind of want to be sober to see what else you say in this state, Hawke."

"Nah, nah. Just, just ask the girl…what's her name…and she'll, man she'll fix you up good. Get the stuff with the purple in it." She nodded profusely and before he could stop her, she'd rung the bell that signaled for a waitress to come up.

"Hawke, are you out of your mind!" He paused. "Dumb question."

In a matter of minutes Hawke had informed the serving lady to bring up two shots of 'the stuff with the purple in it', and then the drink was sitting in front of Varric, begging him to try it.

"Oh, don't be a blighting baby….Varric." Hawke hiccupped and then drank hers in one swift gulp.

She did look like she was having a load of fun, Varric had to admit. "Well, I do always say never drink alone. I wouldn't want to leave you hanging or anything." He gave in.

"Hanging. Hah! At the Hanged Man."

Well, once you start you can never stop. That was the thing about drinking with Hawke, or so it seemed it would be the thing from now on. Up until that night, Varric had never known she even drank at all. But from now on, boy did he know better.

Many, many drinks later, they were both sprawled on their backs in the middle of his floor, staring up at the ceiling. Empty shot glasses littered the floor and her flung haphazardly about them. Varric knew he'd have a time picking them all up later. For now, though, he didn't mind. It seemed they'd reached that point where the drunkenness wears off and one was just left with everything else. The point where most artists would begin to use their inspirational and creative facilities to mold a masterpiece. Or something like that. Hawke turned her head to stare at Varric.

"Hey, Varric?"

He turned. "Hmm?"

"Why do you think…people are so utterly evil sometimes?"

"What? Hawke…you of all people know that it's part of human nature."

"Yeah. I guess you're right."

"By now I'd think you'd realize I'm always right."

"What about when I'm right?"

"Then I'm the one who lead you to the right conclusion, obviously."

She smiled.

"Hawke?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you come here?"

"I was feeling rather pissed off, actually, so I figured a tall one would cool me off-"

Varric rolled over. "No. Not the Hanged Man. Why'd you come _here_?"

Hawke understood. "If anyone was fit to be my drinking buddy, it had to be you Varric. Obviously."

He smirked. "Drinking buddies. Right."

"I mean…hah." She smiled playfully. "What else would we be?"

They laughed for a few minutes but then, when it died down, they were left looking at each other yet again. The smile in his expression seemed to give way to something more primal, something she recognized easily. Hawke's eyes seemed to glitter mischievously, and Varric couldn't help but smolder. Looking at each other like that at so late an hour, well, something was bound to happen. It could've been the alcohol, but then again it could've been…

"It's the chest hair, isn't it?"

"Maker, yes."

In a matter of minutes they'd been pulled together by a seemingly invisible force and were frantically pulling themselves up onto Varric's overly large bed. Their lips crushed into one another's desperately, in a sort of left over drunken stupor. Hawke was always wondered what kind of a kisser Varric was like. Now she found that he was pretty passionate and ardent, definitely skilled. It was no wonder the ladies always came running to him, even though he claimed it was because of his story-telling skills. Their clothes ripped off, and though it was a bit awkward at first, the kissing progressed much further without much incident and, as the saying went, one thing led to another. Things like that just didn't demand over-analyzing. That was obvious.

Her hands uncontrollable, Hawke eagerly explored the stout dwarf, but mostly ended up stroking his chest. He always made such a big deal about showing off the sculpted skin that she simply couldn't help it. Maker, it most definitely _was _the chest hair. Thank Andraste she'd gotten drunk. This was just a bit too good to miss, when she thought about it, and her sober self most likely never would have never dared imagine anything like this as an idea for what to do that night. Varric gripped her wrists and held her down, though she admitted she had to allow him to do so. He was stronger than one would imagine for his size, but so was Hawke. She grinned up at him.

"Why haven't we ever thought of this before?" She asked in between kisses.

"I think…" he breathed, "…it was just too genius to be discovered while sober."

She grinned and was granted a smirk in return. The kissing commenced, and thought gave way to drunken pleasure. Guilty, drunken pleasure that knew no bounds.

**/-/-/-/-/**

"Varric?"

He glanced back up. Cassandra was indeed staring at him still, awaiting his answer. While he did love to the keep the audience in suspense on the edge of their seats, he couldn't stall much longer. He did want to get out of here eventually.

"Something…may or may not have occurred once."

"What does that mean, Tethras?" Cassandra inquired further.

"It means whatever you want it to mean."

"What does it mean according to your understanding?"

"I…don't know what it means."

Exasperated, Cassandra threw up her hands and let out an irritated 'ugh'. "I'm not here to play mind games."

"Really?" Varric eyed her darkly. "Because I was sort of under the impression, you know by dragging me from that perfectly acceptable bar I was at and dragging me here and then, what with the dark lighting so that I can't see who exactly is interrogating me, the no sleep treatment, and the countless other 'method's you've been taking against me, that you were indeed playing mind games."

"This is so much easier when you cooperate."

"I could say the same to you." Varric retorted.

"I can wait all day, Varric. You know I can."

"I'll say…" He muttered.

"What happened." It was not a question.

"Look, she was distressed, Maker knows she had a right to get upset every now and then, and she just came into my room drunk and whatever happened, happened. That's all there is to it."

Cassandra was silent a few minutes before replying. "Drunk?"

"Out of her mind, sodding drunk." Varric glared at the floor. Nobody knew about this.

"And what, you…kissed her?" Cassandra probed.

"Andraste, lady, I did more than that. What kind of impotent whelp do you take me for?" Varric had just about had it with her and her stupefied indignation.

"That is…most shocking." Cassandra concluded. "But helpful."

"Before you go bleating about it to everyone, I do have one request."

"I'm not going to tell anyone. I just needed to know because this means she does have motivation for eventually returning to Kirkwall." Cassandra assured him.

Yes, Varric had indeed thought about that before, but even though he was in the habit of flattering himself, he thought that might be a bit far. They _had_ been drunk after all. They'd never even spoken about it again. The next morning had been one of the most awkward things he'd ever had to put up with, late night chats with Anders included.

"I don't think that's much motivation, going to be honest with you." He stated.

"Just don't…" Cassandra gestured at him and he furrowed his brows, "…don't ever shave. She'll come back."

Varric couldn't help but smirk at that. Chest hair had never let him down so far; he had no intention of getting rid of it. Cassandra rolled her eyes at his obvious appreciation at her praise.

"What was that request?" She asked, turning around and preparing to leave, finally.

Varric took a breath and then let it out. "Please, whatever you do…don't tell Bianca."

**A/N: Before anyone says anything, know this was written for the lolz. Seriously, can you not tell that without me letting you in on it? I love Varric so much for his hilarious self, and with some prodding from a friend, I decided I would eventually have to write this. All I can say is…Wow, Varric. Bianca never even saw it coming, did she? **


End file.
